#dissipou-se

[dissipo]

seria cômico se não fosse tão trágico a forma que encerramos as conexões feitas durante a vida. começamos como dois estranhos e terminamos igual no começo.

— dissipou-se

[sabrinarismos]

Não se sinta mal por não poder me comportar. A minha intensidade afoga os rasos.

— dissipou-se

[psychoticwillgraham]

chloe definitely senses something coming bc she’s sleeping at my feet and spread out to the point where I have to bend my legs in order to fit on the bed, and she only does this when a big storm is coming. she also pokes her head out ocassionally from under the covers and stares out the window. she’s honestly starting to worry me bc she must sense that shit’s about go south weather wise, and it’s like she’s trying to protect me or something.

[lazoneestlibre]

1426 " Vouloir, crée l'illusion de la séparation " Guy ROGER ZONE LIBRE

Celui qui veut, c'est celui qui se moule à la norme prescrite pour faire valoir son existence, il se sépare du tout et s'isole pour exister dans l'image que l'on se fait de soi.

[esote-rika]

to talk is to bare | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Category: hurt/comfort, fluff Summary: three times you've never felt enough for Spencer Reid—and the three times he rectified it immediately Content: insecure reader, written with early s2 Spencer in mind (glasses!Spencer rawr), reader wears makeup, implied bad relationships in the past, Spencer is just a sweetheart Word count: 2.4k A/N: entry for #lovers1kevent (congrats @mggslover muah) - the lyric prompt for this is “And I knew how you took your coffee and your favorite songs by heart, I read all of your (self help) books so you'd think that I was smart” from enough for you by Olivia Rodrigo. This was supposed to just be pure angst but apparently, I can't write this man as anything other than the perfect boyfriend.

“Well, actually, Dostoevsky intended the book to be a critique on certain schools of thoughts and ideologies, namely...”

You stare at your boyfriend, nodding along as he explains the intricacies and historical context of Notes from the Underground to you. His smile is kind and excited when he stops, looking at you expectantly.

“Right.” the smile on your face isn't forced, per se, but neither does it reach your eyes. How many times has it happened this month? It isn’t that you’re keeping count of all the times he’s corrected you—truthfully, you can’t, because you’ve lost count. And that’s the crux of the issue, isn’t it? The fact that you can’t even keep track of his corrections anymore, because he does it all the time. 

You remind yourself he's not doing this to deliberately make you feel stupid, your memory immediately calling forth all the times you've seen him correct other people — his teammates, the cashier at your favorite bookstore, a random person in the park. It's never pointed, nor is the act laced with anything but genuine, loving desire to share his knowledge. He's not like the men you've had to deal with in the past, the ones who jump at every opportunity to show off that they know more than you, that they're correct and you're wrong.

But this is Spencer. Sweet, wholly inexperienced, awkward. Half the time, he doesn't know how he comes across, and you've been dating him long enough to understand that. 

No, his corrections aren’t the crux of the issue. In fact, it isn’t even him. It’s you, and all the treacherous thoughts running through your mind. This damn book you’d read because you saw a dog eared copy in his satchel one day, pushing through pages upon pages of dense material just to catch up and relate with him, only to still come up short and have yourself be corrected.

The sting is still there, lingering and acrid in the back of your tongue. You cannot pinpoint it yet, this But it's Spencer Reid, so you grit your teeth and remind yourself not to take it personally. The words slip out easily. You could almost believe they aren’t lies. “Thank you for letting me know.”

The beam on his face is a reminder that not everyone is as patient, that he's come to expect looks that range from baffled to downright annoyed. Nobody else allows him free reign to talk like this, long winded rambles that get nipped at the bud with a sharp Reid. He smiles, beams at you, and this time the smile on your lips finally reaches your eyes.

“So what did I get wrong?”

“You weren’t wrong,” he’s pulling you in as he answers, lips finding the underside of your jaw and the bitterness dissipates, sweetens into something that makes your toes curl, ���Just a little inaccurate.”

Your body melts into him easily. “You don't have to sugarcoat with me.”

“I'm not, it's literature. You can interpret it however you want, I just thought knowing the rest of the context would help you with your opinion.” he's kissing down your neck, breaths ghosting over your skin as he continues to talk, and you sink into his arms, forgetting why you were even feeling annoyed in the first place.

You’re not sure if you like the color you’ve put to make your cheeks flush. It's always been a point of contention in the past, your exes saying you don't put enough effort in, so this time with Spencer, you try. Even though you're not the best at it, even though you feel a little foolish because it seems a little too bright despite all of your hurried attempts to blend it a little more. But it’s too late to change now. You don’t want to go through the whole deal of reapplying your makeup because that would mean running late, so you ignore it and head to the cafe quickly. 

Spencer isn't there yet. You order your drinks, his black and into which you dump an exorbitant amount of sugar. Memorization is his thing, but you've come to learn a thing or two about him in the time you two are dating.

He's a few minutes late, and when he arrives, Spencer’s eyes lock on you. Or, more specifically, your cheeks.

“That bad?” you tease, standing from your seat and leaning over for a kiss. 

“You don’t have the coloring for that shade of red.”

Your brow knits as you pull away. Attempting to hide the flood of insecurity that swept through your chest, you let out a chuckle. Soft, shaky, and accompanied with a confused, “What?”

“It makes your cheeks look a little inflamed.”

“Oh.” 

Regret fills your chest, settling in your lungs until it’s difficult to breathe. You should have trusted your instincts and scrubbed the makeup off. Shouldn’t have tried something new on the one day the two of you can go out. He’s probably embarrassed by you. How silly, being a full grown woman wearing makeup bordering on clownish. 

He must have caught the hurt in your voice, the way your body deflates because he’s quick to remedy. “Hey, what’s that look for?”

It should embarrass you, the speed at which he picks up on your emotions. But he’s a profiler after all, he’s specifically trained for this, but sometimes you wish he doesn’t use it against you. Gentle hands cup your face. Cold hands, perpetually so until you’ve started keeping them between yours. They tilt your head up. 

“Talk to me.” 

“It’s stupid.”

“Nothing you say is ever stupid.”

You smile, “No, I think we both know that’s a lie.”

He relents. He knows you’re right; there are moments where you don’t make sense. “Not stupid, just…” his eyes roam your face while he searches for the word to use as compromise, as though he’ll find it tucked somewhere in your pretty features, “Lapses in discernment.”

You roll your eyes at his fancy vernacular, the attempt to soothe his mistake. “I think I prefer the layman’s term.” 

Spencer laughs sheepishly, then presses his lips to your forehead, “I’m never using that to describe you.” he murmurs against your skin, and then, “I'm sorry.”

Antarctica could melt from the warmth in your chest.  “You don't even know what you're apologizing for.”

“I upset you. That's reason enough.”

You sigh, pulling him to join you on the plush booth seat you'd managed to secure for your date. “Well, there's nothing to forgive.”

He accepts the coffee you hand him, corners of his mouth curved in a gentle smile. He sips, and you stew in silence, knowing that you shouldn't be leaving him guessing like this. He'd want to know, you can tell by the way he's studying you, the way he wants to examine and turn over your thoughts and reactions like he does with everything else in his life. But he waits, lets you open up if you so wish.

God, he's perfect.

“I was just having second thoughts about my makeup,” you murmur finally, “And you kind of confirmed it. I told you it's stupid.”

“Not stupid at all. I'm sorry,” you wonder if he takes his coffee sweet to match his personality, this asshole, “It was an insensitive comment. And for what it's worth, you look beautiful regardless.”

“Inflamed cheeks and all?” 

He laughs, pulling you to his side, lips firmly planted on your cheek “Inflamed cheeks and all.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have worn the blush after all; you're sure he's making you flush scarlet just by being such a sweetheart.

“Oh Spencer knows her.” the teasing tone in Derek Morgan’s voice normally makes you smile, but something about his tone makes you pause. You stare at the TV, where a new show is running, eyes zeroed in on the blonde actress.

“Spencer knows her?”

“Knew,” your boyfriend supplies, “Very briefly.”

Derek Morgan gives him a knowing smirk that has your stomach churning all the way to the end of the night, when you’re getting ready for bed.

You're in his apartment, in an old pair of his plaid pajamas and a t-shirt that fits you surprisingly well. It always makes you smile, his slight frame, the way you could easily steal his clothes and they wouldn't dwarf you too much. But tonight, Derek's words ring over and over again, bringing forth the image of her—Lila Archer, dazzling, perfectly curvy, an actress on a popular TV series… and apparently, a friend of his. You aren't really sure where this jealousy is coming from. He’s a trustworthy man, and you know he loves you. Still, the image of the beautiful actress persists, even as you climb into bed with him.

He's reading as he usually is, the low lamplight casting shadows over the sharp planes of his face. Without even looking, he shifts the book to his other hand, freeing up an arm to draw you to his body. It's easy, quiet, his heartbeat fluttering beneath your ear as you rest your head on his chest. The exact opposite of your own heartbeat right now.

“What's on your mind?” 

“Nothing.” It should be a sin, the way you keep denying your feelings. But it's just so silly, and you're a grown woman. Jealousy and insecurity shouldn't be consuming you like this, and yet…

“Please don't lie to me,” his fingers are in your hair, tangling deep into the strands and seeking for your scalp. They’re soothing and rhythmic upon contact, lulling your body into a sense of relaxation even though your heart still hammers at your chest.

“Why do you say that?”

“You usually remind me to use the overhead lights when I read.” fingers putting pressure on your scalp, traveling to your temple. He has you in the palm of his hands, “You didn't do that tonight. And your heartbeat's going at an abnormally high rate, even though I'm quite certain you didn't do anything strenuous before coming to bed. What's going on?” 

Damn him and his attention to detail, and the way he’'s learned your little quirks and oddities. He puts down his book and you turn your face to hide into his chest.

You chew on your bottom lip, reminding youself that this is Spencer, he wouldn't judge. “How’d you know her?” your voice is muffled against his shirt, “Lila.”

“We had a case in Los Angeles.” he pauses, as if considering if he should say more. Right. Confidentiality. You nod, accepting his answer.

“Must have been a high profile one then,” you muse, “Or were you just hanging around Hollywood studios with Derek?” It’s an unfair statement, but you can’t help it.

“No, no, it wasn’t like that.” You look back up at him and oh there’s guilt swimming in pools of honey eyes. “I mean, we kissed once, but I swear, nothing beyond that.”

You exhale. A kiss. He's kissed a TV starlet. 

This shouldn’t even be an issue. This is before you were even in the picture after all. It’s not fair to uphold him to some weird standard. You certainly had relationships before him. But none of them had been as stunning as Lila Archer. And if he could have Lila Archer, then what is he doing with you? 

“Hey,” his other hand comes to stroke your cheek, the soft pad of his thumb rubbing small, soothing circles, “Talk to me.”

It's a difficult thing, being mature and communicating when you just want to stew, but god he's so good, you can't punish him for this, for anything. “I thought you said I was your first girlfriend?” you say instead, teasing him.

“You are, but you know, I’ve kissed before, and been on dates—”

“With Lila?”

“No, with JJ.”

Oh.

“JJ?”

JJ? His lovely, warm spring day beauty coworker JJ? He went on a date with her? And kissed Lila Archer. It’s almost ridiculous, thinking about the type of women he's had dalliances with—lithe, blonde, perfect, before he settled with you. 

“Yeah, I took her to a Redskins game,” he says, his hold on your face still light. There's room to move if you want to, space to pull away should you need it and god he's just so perfect.

“You have a type, huh?” it comes out unbidden, sharp but dulled by a bitter laugh.

“What do you mean?”

“With women,” you reply, trying to temper the snappy tone of your voice. It's not fair to lash out at him like this, you know that, yet you can't help it. It's habit at this point, a form of defense that your exes have all been too happy to participate, “I'm the outlier.”

And apparently, he's an outlier too because his voice grows even softer, eyes searching your face with an anxiety that fills you with guilt. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” you sigh, arm draping over his waist and hugging him tight. 

He returns the favor, tangling your legs together until you're a mess of limbs under his sheets. “Then what's wrong?”

“Sometimes I just feel like—like I'm not good enough to be dating you.” there it is, whispered into his chest, striking straight to his heart. “And now, knowing that you could have had all of these — these women who could pass for models—”

“Angel,” the way he says the nickname makes you hide even further into his chest. He closes his arms around you, holding you so tightly it's difficult to breathe, but that's okay. Let him fuse your bodies together, let his breaths be yours too, “That's not true, you know that's not true.”

“Isn't it? You're so — you. Intelligent, well decorated in academia, an an elite FBI unit…”

He laughs, “I’m also an endlessly annoying know it all, I failed my gun license exam more than once, I don't have abs—”

“You don't need abs,” you counter, fingers clutching on his shirt.

“Wouldn't you rather be with a guy with a six pack?”

“I'd rather be with you.”

He gently moves away from you, hands finding your face to make you look at him. “And I'd rather be with you.”

You pout, “You can't use my words against me, ‘s not fair.” 

He laughs again, leaning to capture your lips in the gentlest of kisses, “I want you, I chose you, and I adore you,” he's murmuring between each kiss, hands cradling your face, “And if you have these thoughts again, tell me, so I can keep reminding you just how much I love you.” 

➺ My masterlist | Event masterlist

➺ thank you so much for reading <3

[roguelov]

Birthmark

Summary: Miguel discovered something he never noticed before on you: a birthmark, one specifically on your lower back side. At a single glance, a primal feeling started to burn inside of him. And there was only one way to satiate him.

Word Count: ~2.5k

Reader: Afab (no fem pronouns used)

Warnings: SMUT (unprotected sex, doggy style, fingering, pull out/cumming on backside, voyeurism, manhandling, possessiveness, minor blood), some fluff, established relationship

MINORS DNI/18+ ONLY

The world drifted away, lost and nearly forgotten, as music poured out of your headphones. The soft luminance of the sun peered through the windows, wishing to greet everyone, to kiss their cheeks with its warm light on this early weekend morning. The simple apartment space was filled with an assortment of things - both the necessary to the unnecessary but well loved trinkets - to call it a shared home.

You weaved around the living room, delicately walking to not to disturb your sleeping partner in the bedroom a short distance away. It was one of those days, a day of waking up and wanting to clean the place. It wasn’t exactly dirty per se, but it was dusty and needed a little more care.

Off in the bedroom, behind the cracked door with the blinds still shut, a body laid sprawled out on the bed - the body of an overworked Miguel. The steady rise and fall of his chest stuttered. The even rhythm broke as consciousness slowly took hold. It wasn’t any noise that disturbed him. No. It was the lack of presence. It was the lack of your warmth, the lack of your arms wrapped around his waist, the lack of your soft breathing against his skin.

He craved it - needed it to always have a well rested night of sleep.

A low exhausted groan tumbled off his lips as he rolled over. He pushed himself up, and hunched forward on the edge of the bed. He sighed loudly. He rubbed the back of his neck at a small stiff ache. The world and all of its sensations slowly poured over him. The first to return was sound. His ears perked up. Out in the living room, you sang quietly under your breath.

A smile cracked onto his tired face.

Standing up, and stretching a bit, he shuffled out of the bedroom. He opened the door, and the world greeted him. Basking in the sunlight, you glowed this morning. He leaned into the doorway, watching you with a loving, tender gaze.

The living room was cluttered with cleaning supplies: a vacuum with its long cords snaking around, a duster tossed onto the table along with a rag and cleaning spray, and lastly an unlit candle for later to fill the air with such sweet aromas. Unaware of Miguel’s presence, you continued to sing softly and only a few words at a time. You moved around with a certain grace, you were guided by the music and bounced to the beat as you cleaned.

Miguel’s smile grew.

How did you become a part of his life? He almost didn’t deserve you, or so he believed. You were a beacon of light and life.

Of love.

He chuckled once, unable to contain his joy.

Still lost in your task, you bent forward, picking up a blanket randomly tossed onto the floor from the night before.

Instantly, Miguel’s laughter seized. Confusion, and something else, settled into his chest.

What -

You, however, stood upright again. His eyes narrowed trying to comprehend what he saw. He definitely saw something, he knew he did. But, what exactly was it? Well, technically he saw two things; two things which made his chest clench and his heart skip just a tad faster. Firstly, you weren’t wearing any underwear underneath your plain cotton shorts. But, there was something else. Something he never noticed before.

And he was intrigued and determined to know.

Walking up behind you, he placed a hand on your hip. You jumped, startled by his sudden appearance. Dropping the blanket, you spun around only for your minor panic to dissipate. You laughed and smiled at him. Your headphone slid off your head and dangled around your neck.

“Well, good morning to you too,” you cheekily said.

“What was that?”

Your face scrunched in confusion. “What was what?”

Miguel’s lips thinned. He turned his head, almost grumbling. His skin started to flush, and he strangely felt embarrassed. A little odd given the few months you had now been living together. “I … I saw something … like - like …”

You raised an eyebrow. Twisting your around, you searched over your body and clothes. “What? Is there a stain somewhere? A hole? A tear?”

“No,” he groaned, rolling his eyes more so at himself. Why couldn’t he say it? “Something here.”

He tentatively reached over. With a single finger, he very gently grazed over one of your bottom cheeks. Your eyes instantly dropped down to his finger. You blinked, still baffled by his odd behavior. You didn’t see a stain, it was just your shorts. Then it clicked. Realization flooded over your features, smoothing out the confused crease between your brows.

You cocked your head, trying to bite back your growing amusement, “Are you talking about my birthmark?”

“Birthmark?” He repeated, confused.

“Yeah, my birthmark.” You chuckled. “I thought you had seen it before, or I at least told you about it.”

Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. He couldn’t recall, but this certainly all felt like news to him.

“I don’t remember,” he mumbled.

“Well, yeah it’s always been there.” You picked up the blanket again. You kept your back to him as you refolded it. “I swore I told you before, it’s why I can’t wear certain things out. If I wear cotton shorts and they ride up, you’ll probably see it. The same goes for certain swimsuit bottoms. And if I wear white bottoms then there is a chance you’ll see it through depending on the fabric.”

As you started to move around again, placing the blanket into a basket beside the couch, Miguel’s eyes dropped. It was as if he was trying to burn a hole through your shorts to see it again - to see it properly.

Something was stirring inside of him, something he didn’t quite fully understand yet. He stepped forward. He wanted to see it, he needed to see it. His hands grabbed your hips, stopping you in place.

You jokingly rolled your eyes and smiled to yourself. He was certainly handsy this morning.

Was it handsy, or needy? Needy, yes. But, it wasn’t in the sweet innocent way you initially assumed. He wasn’t needy in the way he always wanted to close by, or comforted by having you in his grasp.

Oh no, you greatly miscalculated.

You snorted, “Can I help you -“

A gasp left your lips. Miguel had forcibly grabbed the bottom fabric of your shorts and yanked it up. His eyes immediately locked onto the birthmark - the very obvious birthmark that was nearly centered on your one cheek.

There it was. Plain as day.

You twisted your upper body, and quickly latched a hand around his wrist. Now, it was your turn to get flustered and embarrassed. “Okay, okay, you saw it, can you let go now?”

His eyes flickered up.

Oh. Oh no.

Your breath hitched, and your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach.

His usual crimson eyes - the color of crisp ripe apples in the height of a chilly autumn, or the color of a bright lush rose given in secret to a lover - was gone. His pupils were blown wide, the darkness overtaking the lovely shade of red. They were black like the shirt of a priest who you should be praying with; they were black like the night where no one can see what sins were unfolding.

His thumb pressed firmly into your ass, into your birthmark.

“Miguel,” you whispered softly as your heart ticked faster and faster.

He dropped his head, nuzzling his face into your neck. His lips slowly brushed over your neck. You shivered. Ever so slowly, your initial surprise melted away. You lolled your head to the side, granting him more access. He always had this effect on you. One look, one touch, and soon you were putty in his hands.

Oh, he was losing himself. He didn’t know why, but this discovery riled him up. Maybe because this was like a secret, a secret only he was privy to.

His lovely little secret.

He groaned softly. His heart beat faster as he fell into this near animalistic passion - a primal frenzy. His talons slowly came out. He couldn’t - and wouldn’t - hold himself back any longer. One of his talons scraped over the birthmark.

You gasped at the minor spark of pain.

He smirked, and began to teasingly kiss your neck. A pepper of butterfly kisses that quickly shifted to heated opened mouth attacks as he bit and sucked on your now sensitive skin. He cupped your ass, giving it a rough, hard squeeze.

“Mine,” he murmured lowly into your neck.

One word.

One simple word.

And hell - all those forbidden yet heavenly sins locked away - was unleashed.

It happened all so quickly. He yanked you towards his chest. Lips collided. Tongues swirled together, drawing out beautiful sounds from each of you. Hands roamed over every curve and muscle. You were desperate for each other. You both always stoked such burning desires, such all consuming fires.

The next thing you knew, your shorts were pulled down and kicked aside along with Miguel’s sweatpants. You were immediately bent over the couch as Miguel finally slipped his cock inside your dripping folds.

You tried to hold back the obnoxiously loud cry of pleasure. Your forehead buried into your folded arms, which was supported by the backside of the couch. Your nails dug crescent shapes along your biceps.

Miguel sighed, tipping his head forward. He was panting heavily, unable to control him. God, you always drove him into such a state. He couldn’t think, he could only drown himself in the overwhelming and wondrous sensation of you. His hands happily - and downright couldn’t resist - kneaded and played with your ass. He squeezed harshly, and watched as your pliable fat pooled between his needy fingers.

Good lord.

He soon swore a string of curses under his breath in Spanish. He wanted to roll his eyes back. He wanted to completely lose himself. But, he also wanted to watch. So, he did. He watched hungrily as he pounded into you. Most importantly, he watched his thumb continue to dig fiercely into your birthmark.

A moan hummed in the back of your throat.

His eyes sparkled with such sinful delight. It was like a secret button. His secret button. His talon teasingly traced the shape of it. Then his thumb pushed further into your birthmark, enjoying the sounds you were making. He shuddered. Fueled by your responsiveness, he felt his fangs elongate as he moaned. Oh, he wanted to bite it, he wanted to mark it. Dare he say, he wanted to carve his initial into it.

His.

All his.

He gripped your hips harshly, digging his talons into your skin. Small pricks of blood swelled up under his deathly grip. Bruises and sores would most definitely appear later. He picked up his pace. It was sloppy and ruthless. The sounds were so loud, and so delightful: his hips slapping into your ass, his thick cock pummeling into you, his low groans mixing with your more high pitched ones.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, letting out a muffled whine. You buried your face into your arms, trying to silence how loud you were becoming. Desperate and needy, you soon grinded back into him, meeting his pace.

Miguel hissed, “Ah, cariño, nuevamente. Again, do that again.”

You obeyed without hesitation. You pushed back into him, moaning as his cock stretched you further. Your walls greedily clamped around him, sending him into a frenzy.

He moaned, and nearly slumped forward. He paced one hand on the backside of the couch, keeping himself upright. While, his other hand wrapped firmly around your hips. His hot breath fanned over your sweaty neck. Growling, he was furiously humping into you.

Your eyes rolled back. Fuck. You loved when he was like this, when he used you. You loved when he let himself go. And the best and worst thing was you wouldn’t last much longer. He was deliciously relentless.

You moaned, “Miguel -“

“I know,” he gritted his teeth. His voice rumbled near your ear. You shivered. Your walls fluttered around him. You were quickly nearing your end. And he knew it. “Let go, please. Oh, please, let me feel it.”

He uprighted himself, and gripped your hips again. You tried to match his pace, you tried to keep up, but you couldn’t. He mercilessly pounded into you. He moved your hips for you, he knew what you wanted and needed.

And that was it.

In a few more thrust, you cried out, gushing around him. Miguel swiftly pulled out. You whined. Yet, two of his fingers quickly plunged back inside. Your disappointment melted away as you moaned out again. Your mind went fuzzy in absolute pleasure. He kept pumping into you, overworking you. You squirmed as your legs began to shake.

“Miguel,” you mumbled, almost like a sob.

“Shhh, I know, I got you.”

With his other hand, he started to pump himself. Feeling you around his fingers, hearing your whines and delightful wet noises of his fingers slipping in and out of you, seeing your body shake with overstimulation, he spilled all over your backside.

“Fuck, Miguel,” you weakly hissed out.

He laughed once, a short breathy laugh. He pulled out his fingers. He paused for a moment, admiring your juices covering his fingers: the way it dripped down, the way it glistened in the light, and oh the way could feel his mouth water at the thought of tasting it.

And he had a little idea. An idea which had been stirring since the beginning.

He wiped his fingers clean over your ass, directly over your birthmark.

You groaned softly, still slumped forward over the couch. You focused more on trying to catch your fleeting breath. Your body still buzzed from the wondrous aftermath. Sighing deeply, you closed your eyes, thinking it was finally over.

Until something swiped across your ass. Specifically, Miguel’s tongue. Miguel licked up once, and cleaned up yours and his cum over your birthmark. He moaned at the taste. And, for an extra measure he teasingly, and gentle as he fangs would let him, nipped the birthmark.

Your body jolted at the sensation. A loud, almost pornographic, moan fell over your lips. “Jesus Christ,” you hissed.

He chuckled.

Miguel carefully stood you up, and turned you around. With still shaky legs, you completely fell into his chest exhausted. He wrapped an arm around your waist to support you. His smile softened, seeing the state he had brought you to. With his free hand, he gently cupped your cheek, and placed a chaste kiss on your lips.

You hummed softly, and gave him a tired lopsided smile.

“Let’s clean you up,” Miguel whispered. His finger traced down your cheek, and along your jaw. He tipped your chin up. His lips brushed over yours again. His sweetness then vanished. A devious smirk crossed on his lips. His hand fell from your waist, and squeezed your ass again. “I’m still not done with you yet.”

[childrenofcain-if]

Hello beautiful Author!! I hope u are doing well! So basically I am a religious follower of your blog and uuugghh!!! This story is so beautifully crafted like the script the writing style the plot even the characters seem larger than life. Honestly u have my tremendous respect and admiration.... Also I am totally in love with cedric!! angsty adorable and hot. So since today is my birthday I decided to treat myself to a snippet ... Can u please write a fluff scene where in the future after marriage yk after C achieved his dream how would M!C react to find out that F!MC is pregnant. What kind of dad would he be and how would he handle the news especially if it's a girl. (PS: I love you okay? U rock!!! ❤❤😘)

the morning started like most mornings did in your household. the sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of your manhattan penthouse, muted by the heavy curtains cédric insisted on keeping drawn just enough to keep the room from feeling exposed.

he was already in the kitchen when you woke up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose as he frowned at his ipad.

it was a weekday, which meant cédric was doing what cédric did best: handling things.

the man could command a room full of board members or negotiate a multi-billion-dollar deal, but he always took his mornings slow, like it was his personal rebellion against the world which demanded his attention. the smell of coffee hung thick in the air, and you could hear him muttering under his breath—half in french, half in english—as he skimmed over some report.

he looked up when he heard your footsteps. the cold glint in his pale green eyes softened the way they always did when he saw you.

“good morning, mon amour,” he said, setting the ipad down as if the numbers and charts weren’t important anymore.

you smiled at him, but there was a nervous flutter in your chest that didn’t quite dissipate.

“good morning,” you greeted back, making your way to the counter. “we need to talk.”

his brow furrowed, just slightly, in that way that meant his mind was already cataloging possible scenarios. you wondered if he was running through a mental checklist: a problem at work, an overdue bill, a delayed package. he was always looking for answers before you even finished your question.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, voice low and calm, but his hand twitched where it rested on the counter.

you hesitated, suddenly unsure how to say it. for someone who had spent years speaking in boardrooms and drafting persuasive arguments, the words felt clumsy in your throat.

“there’s nothing wrong, per se,” you began, and you saw the tension in his shoulders ease—just a fraction. “it’s just... i’m pregnant.”

the silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. it was like the air had stilled, waiting for his reaction.

cédric blinked. once, twice. then he stepped back, leaning against the counter as if the weight of your words had hit him square in the chest. his mouth opened, then closed again. he looked—if you hadn’t known him better—younger. like a boy caught off guard, unsure of whether he was allowed to feel what he was feeling.

“you’re...?” he started, and then he stopped himself. his hand went to his hair, brushing the dark brown strands back, a nervous habit he’d never managed to shake. “you’re sure?”

you nodded, suddenly shy. “i took three tests. all positive. i was going to wait until we were both home later tonight, but—”

“no, no, now is perfect,” he interrupted, his voice sharper than he intended, like he was scolding you for even considering keeping it from him. he shook his head, and you could see the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “mon dieu.”

cédric laughed then, a sound so rare and so unguarded it made your chest ache. it was a laugh of disbelief, of joy, of sheer and unrestrained emotion. he crossed the kitchen in two long strides and pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly you could feel his heart pounding against your ribs.

“je t’aime,” he murmured into your hair. “je t’aime, je t’aime, je t’aime.”

you clung to him, laughing through the tears that had started spilling down your cheeks.

***

cédric’s reaction to the pregnancy didn’t end that morning. over the next few weeks, he threw himself into preparing for the baby with the same intensity he brought to his work. he was meticulous, obsessive even, researching everything from cribs to car seats. he vetoed three potential pediatricians before you’d even had a chance to meet them, insisting that only the best would do.

but it wasn’t just about the logistics. cédric was unexpectedly tender, in a way that made your heart twist. he read parenting books in bed at night, one hand on your growing belly as he absently stroked his thumb over the fabric of your pajamas. he brought you tea without being asked, stocked the pantry with your favorite snacks, and refused to let you carry anything heavier than a shopping bag.

when you found out the baby was a girl, it felt like the world completely shifted for him.

“it’s a girl,” you had informed him, holding the ultrasound picture out to him.

he took it from your hands carefully, as if it were made of glass, and stared at it for a long moment. his expression was unreadable, but you could see the way his fingers trembled, just slightly.

“a daughter,” he said, the words thick in his throat. “our daughter.”

you nodded with a small smile, watching him carefully. “how do you feel about that?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he set the picture down on the table and turned to you, his eyes burning with an intensity that made you shiver.

“i’m going to protect her,” cédric said, his voice low and fierce. “from everything. from everyone. she’ll never have to wonder if she’s loved. she’ll never have to fight for what’s hers.”

“i can already see it,” you teased gently, trying to lighten the mood. “you’ll be the dad who scares off all her partners.”

“damn right i will,” he said, his smile returning. “she’s going to know her worth. and if anyone tries to undermine that—” he didn’t finish the sentence, but the murderous look in his eyes said enough.

you leaned forward, cupping his cheek and drawing him back to you. “she’ll know her worth because of you,” you said softly. “because of how much you’ll love her.”

“and her mother,” he added, his voice barely above a whisper.

he kissed you then, slow and lingering, and when he pulled back, his hands settled gently over your stomach.

you reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly. “she’s going to be so lucky to have you.”

cédric shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “no,” he said softly, his gaze dropping to your belly. “i’m the lucky one.”

***

as the months went on, cédric proved himself to be everything you’d hoped for and more. he was attentive to a fault, sometimes to the point of driving you mad with his insistence on helping you. ehen the baby kicked for the first time, he was right there, his hand pressed against your stomach, his eyes wide with wonder.

when your due date finally arrived, he was the calmest one in the delivery room. he held your hand through every contraction (even when you almost broke his bones), whispered words of encouragement in your ear, and refused to leave your side, even when the nurses told him to give you space.

and when your daughter was finally born, cédric was the first to hold her, much to your father’s exasperation. he cradled her tiny, wrinkled body in his arms, his expression soft and awestruck.

“she’s perfect,” he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks.

you smiled, exhausted but deliriously happy. “she has your eyes.”

“and a head full of your hair,” he said, his voice breaking.

in that moment, you knew without a doubt that he would be the kind of father who would move mountains for his daughter. he would be firm but fair, protective but not overbearing, and endlessly devoted to her happiness.

as he rocked her gently, humming a lullaby under his breath, you realized that this—your little family—was everything you’d ever wanted. and as much as you knew about how cédric wasn’t very good at expressing his emotions, it was clear as day right now that nothing would ever compare to the love he had for the two of you.

[mallowsweetmiri]

Bestfriend!Marauders with no boundaries accidentally make you sick and take care of you

some comfort fluff marauders content because the election is actually giving me existential dread and anxiety lol.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

There was nothing worse than getting sick. Actually, there was something worse. There was your best friends testing out an experimental prank, which resulted in a magical fungus puffing you with its spores, that led to you developing a serious cold. And the worst part is, they begged you not to go to the hospital wing.

"We're so sorry Y/N," James frowned, covering his face with his shirt and brushing the specks off of your hair.

"Please, forgive us," Sirius pleaded, also covering his mouth from the spores. "But you can't tell Madam Pomfrey. She'll give us another month of detention and we have something big planned next month." You coughed through the dissipating cloud and sneezed before glaring daggers at Sirius.

"Why can't I just tell her I ran into this thing outside? I won't mention you dreadful lot," you grumbled, pushing James' hand away from your hair and doing it yourself. He frowned even more and stepped back with his eyes on his feet.

"Well, the thing is," Peter chuckled nervously, "there technically wouldn't be any of those around the grounds. Because, well, it's not exactly, legal, per se." Peter finished off his rambling and looked at anything but you. You whined in frustration and sneezed again. These idiots had somehow acquired an off the market plant in order to pull off god knows what kind of prank. It was only your luck that you would be walking into the room just as Peter was exiting with the plant, causing a collision that ended with spores being dispersed directly into your sinuses. Remus could see your frustration at their idiocracy and stepped forward, although he was still covering his mouth with his shirt.

"Dove, I know you're upset, and you should be. It was very irresponsible for us to have that in the dorm at all, " Remus raised his brows and looked at the three boys behind him. They all nodded their heads in shame. "And you're being such an angel by not going to the hospital wing," He looked back at them again and the three boys nodded fervently, mumbling praises and compliments to you. "So let us take care of you, Y/N. I promise we'll make it up to you." You could almost see his charming smile through his shirt and you rolled your eyes in defeat. James' smile spread all the way to his eyes as he enthusiastically stepped forward.

"Yes, just let us take care of you," he grinned, grabbing your elbow with his free hand and guiding to you the door. "First order of business, airing out this room so we don't all get sick. Let's go get some fresh air while Pete and Sirius clean things up in here." There were sounds of protest but James was already leading you down the stairs, continuing to dust any residue off of your hair and shirt. Remus followed behind, fanning out the trail of dust James was leaving. Once the three of you finally reached the common room, James sat you down on a couch and promptly removed his "mask" beginning to feel your forehead and cheeks.

"Okay, okay," you chuckled, gently moving his doting hands off your face. "I'm not that sick. I've only got a little cough and sniffles." James looked back at Remus with deep concern, which Remus returned. Your eyebrows furrowed together.

"Well, dove. Peter actually said that the spore would make the victim extremely ill. Fever, congestion, and a terrible cough," Remus said compassionately, giving you a look of pity as he rested his hand on your leg to break the news. You looked at him with exasperation as you let out a cry which subsequently made you cough. James let out a huff of sadness as he moved to embrace you into his lap, swaying you as you groaned at your circumstances.

"We're so sorry, Y/N," James whispered, petting your hair with his hand. He then looked up to Remus and added, "I hope it's not contagious."

Within the next twenty minutes of waiting for Sirius and Peter, you got significantly worse. At first it was the sneezing, but soon your body fell into terrible chills. Remus got you water and helped you drink while James had taken off his sweatshirt and promptly placed it over you, the material swallowing your frame. By the time Sirius bounded down the stairs to tell you the room was clean, you had snot blocking your airways. James didn't say a word as he scooped you up and carried you up the stairs.

"Is she doing okay?" Sirius asked, his voice dripping in concern as he peeked over James shoulder to catch a glimpse of you. Remus shook his head and pat Sirius on the back as they followed you to the dorm. James placed you in his bed, where Peter was already fluffing up the pillows and opening the covers for you to slip under.

"Oh, Y/N," Peter murmured, tucking your body under the covers and fussing with the pillows. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have been so careless. This was a terrible, terrible idea." You shook your head and placed you hand on his arm to stop him.

"No," you croaked, pausing to clear your throat, "It's okay Peter. What's done is done. Could you maybe bring me some tea and biscuits, please?" You gave him puppy eyes, but you hardly think you needed them. Peter was already halfway out the door and on his way to the kitchens. Remus went to the bathroom to dampen a washcloth, and both Sirius and James took seats on the edge of the bed. James lightly massaged your temples, causing you to sigh in relief. You could feel Sirius pouting and he looked severely distraught, almost to the point of tears.

"Siri," you sniffled, reaching out for his hand. He grabbed it gently and let out a choked sob.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he whimpered. You shushed him and squeeze his hand.

"Siri, it's okay. You don't have to apologize for anything. It was an accident," you reassured him. He nodded but looked away from you. You were certain he was crying, and you knew it had to do with his remaining guilt of the prank™. Before you could sit up to comfort him further, his form shifted to Padfoot, and he quietly nuzzled his way into your lap, rubbing his snout gently into your chest. You huffed out a smile and relaxed into the bed, looking up at James who had a light smile on his face. Remus came back and placed the damp washcloth on your head.

"Hey, Pads," Remus whispered as he pat the dog on his head. Padfoot huffed but remained with his head on your chest, your hand stroking him rhythmically. James did the same but to your cheek, his eyes glued to your face as he watched with concern for any signs of discomfort. After a while, Remus had settled in his bed next to yours, reading a book quietly as Sirius and James stayed on your bed, both in an attempt to comfort you. It was quite working, and after a few minutes, you were dozing off to sleep. It was unfortunate that your body jolted awake after choking on a wet cough. You startled Padfoot as your body jolted up, followed by a honking cough that cut through your throat. You groaned as you head pounded with pressure.

"Water," you croaked, scrambling to sit up. Sirius jumped off the bed and transformed quickly, coming forward to help you sit up.

"Oh, darling," Sirius cooed, using his hands to shift your body into a sitting position. He took the water from Remus and brought it your mouth slowly. You cautiously took a sip and let out a sigh of relief. You went in for a second sip but your lungs had other plans, sputtering up a cough as you tried to sip. This caused all three boys to instantly take the water away and begin doting over you, patting your back and wiping the water off your chin. Peter entered the room to the chaotic scene.

"Oh merlin," Peter said hurriedly, setting his tray down on the bedside table. You waved your hands as you went through your fit of coughing.

"I'm fine," you swallowed, laying back against the headboard. You heard sighs as the boys bodies slouched in relief. "Biscuits?" you smiled sheepishly, only mildly embarrassed of the disgusting noises you had been making. Peter grinned and brought them over to you.

"M'lady," he held the tray out for you to take one. As you reached for one to bring to your mouth, Remus tutted.

"Slowly," he said with a warning brow raised. You rolled your eyes and brought the cookie to your open mouth at a comedically slow speed, causing Sirius and James to sputter down a laugh. Remus rolled his eyes right back but smiled when you finally bit into the cookie. Not a single boy left your side as they continued to feed you tea and cookies until the plate was empty. You let out a yawn and had James instantly at his trunk.

"I'm going to wrap you up now," James said, matter of factly as he brought a blanket towards you. "Time for sleep." You tried to protest but your body betrayed you as another yawn met your lips. James hummed as he wrapped the blanket around you, using his sheer strength to lift you body and place you back into a laying position as if you were a doll. At some point, Padfoot had gone back to dog form and was once again nuzzle his way next to your body. You gladly patted his ears as he settled down, and closed your eyes as James leant down to kiss your forehead. Remus began to close the bed shades as Peter took the now finished food tray away.

"Sleep well, Y/N," Remus whispered, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

"Just tap Padfoot if you need something," James smiled, closing the curtains on his side. "Merlin, that is the cutest thing I've ever seen."

"Thanks boys," you murmured as darkness swept over the bed. You let out a sigh of content as you gently pet Padfoot. Maybe being sick wasn't the worst thing in the world after all.

[scoupsakakitty]

Chapter 8: Lean On Me

It had been a week since Y/N had broken up with Se-hun, yet the weight of it still clung to her like a storm cloud that refused to dissipate. The members had done everything they could to support her, but she had withdrawn into herself, shutting them out. Every day, they left food and water at her door, relieved whenever she took even a single bite. They didn’t push her, didn’t force her to talk just waited, hoping she would find her way back to them in her own time.

That evening, the members gathered in the living room, their expressions a mix of concern and helplessness. They had all visited Y/N, all except one.

Dino, who had been sitting in thoughtful silence, suddenly turned to Seungcheol. “Hyung,” he said hesitantly. “You can help her.”

Seungcheol blinked in surprise. “Me?”

Dino nodded, scratching the back of his neck as he tried to find the right words. “Yeah. I don’t know why, but I just have this feeling. She needs you.”

The others exchanged glances before nodding in agreement. “You should go,” Joshua encouraged. “Just try.”

With a nervous breath, Seungcheol got to his feet and walked toward Y/N’s room. He knocked gently but received no response. Slowly, he pushed the door open, stepping into the dimly lit space. She was curled up on her bed, facing the wall. Her small frame seemed even smaller under the weight of her sorrow.

“Y/N,” he called softly, but she didn’t move.

Carefully, he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Come here lean on me,” he said in a soft tone. “Talk to me tell me everything what’s on your mind, don’t leave anything out. Even if we talk through the night. I’ll be on your side.”

A shudder ran through her, and for the first time in days, she turned to face him. Her eyes were red, her face stained with dried tears. Slowly, hesitantly, she shifted forward, resting her head against his chest. The moment she did, a strange warmth spread through both of them a quiet flutter in their stomachs, a feeling they didn’t quite understand yet. And then, she broke. Her body shook with quiet sobs, and Seungcheol wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly.

“I’m not crying because of Se-hun,” she whispered between gasps. “I’m crying because I let it happen. I let him play with my feelings. I wasted so much time on him. Time I could’ve spent finding my real love.”

She tilted her head up slightly, eyes meeting his. There was something raw and vulnerable in her gaze, something that made his heart tighten. That unspoken feeling lingered between them, but neither of them dared to acknowledge it.

“You didn’t waste time,” he said firmly. “You learned. And now you know what you deserve something better.”

She gave him a small, broken smile. “Then why does it still hurt so much?”

“Because you cared,” he answered simply. “Because you’re human. But you can’t let him have that power over you anymore.”

They sat in silence for a while, her breathing gradually evening out. The warmth between them remained, a quiet electricity neither of them quite understood. Finally, he pulled back slightly, brushing her hair out of her face. “Come on. Go to the bathroom, freshen up a bit. You’ve let this bring you down for too long.”

Y/N hesitated, but the steady resolve in his eyes gave her strength. She nodded slowly and got up, disappearing into the bathroom.

As soon as she was gone, Seungcheol looked around the room. It was a mess blankets strewn about, empty water bottles, untouched plates of food. With quiet efficiency, he set to work, straightening the bed, opening the window for fresh air, and tidying up. By the time he was done, the space looked more like Y/N’s room again, rather than a reflection of her heartbreak.

Satisfied, he made his way to the kitchen. The moment he stepped in, the members swarmed him with questions.

“How is she?”

“Did it work?”

“Is she okay?”

Before he could respond, the sound of soft footsteps interrupted them. They all turned to see Y/N standing in the doorway. She looked like a completely different person. Her hair was brushed, her face washed, and there was a spark of life in her eyes that had been missing for days.

The room fell silent before breaking into quiet murmurs of relief and joy. They were careful, though watching her closely, as if she might break again at any moment.

She offered them a small, appreciative smile. “I’m starving,” she admitted.

The tension broke instantly. “Finally!” Jeonghan sighed dramatically, making everyone laugh. They quickly set the table, filling plates with warm food.

They decided to watch a movie together, keeping the atmosphere light. Laughter filled the room, and for the first time in a week, Y/N laughed with them. It wasn’t completely healed, but it was a start.

Somewhere in the middle of the film, Y/N’s eyelids grew heavy. She fought to stay awake, but the warmth of the room, the comfort of her friends, and the steady presence beside her made it impossible. Her head lolled to the side, landing softly on Seungcheol shoulder. The moment her head touched him, his heart skipped a beat. That strange, unfamiliar feeling returned something both exciting and terrifying.

He glanced down at her, then at the others, who all exchanged knowing smiles. Without a word, he carefully gathered her in his arms and carried her back to her room. He laid her down gently, pulling the blanket over her. As he did, he brushed a strand of hair from her face and whispered, “I won’t let anyone hurt you like that again.”

As he pulled back, he felt it again that flutter in his chest, the way his fingers tingled where they had touched her skin. He didn’t quite understand it, and neither did she.

[superluver]

What was in the bag? G.S.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Wife!Reader

wc: 1516 | cw: Gojo is annoying, fem!Reader, Married, Pre established couple, mentions of bounty&death, FLUFF

Description: Gojo's students meet his wife without knowing it's his wife. Spoiler alert, they think you're his mom.

STARTING HERE

You weren’t really a secret per se.. more of underwraps.

Married to Satoru Gojo, strongest man alive in modern times, you were kind of on the radar for multiple things. Bounty’s on your head reaching over 600 million yen, though they’ve never actually gotten you.

And your daughter, it’s even worse. The highest you’ve heard of was 1 Billion yen, but as Satoru always tells you, he wouldn’t have married someone unable to take care of themselves. You were strong on your own, sure, not a special grade, but a high Grade 1.

You were more than capable of taking care of your family.

“Sora, ready to go?” You coo at her, looking down at her. She babbles in responde, kicking her legs and thrusting them up and down. It’s quite funny.

You are wearing a big hat, large sunglasses and a mask, your 5 month old daughter only wearing the hat and glasses. Her body facing your chest.

A large, garbage bag sits at the door. You recall Satoru texting you to bring it to the school because he forgot it, so with a sigh, you take it in your hand.

It’s heavy, but not unbearably so.

You embark on your journey to the school, which was only about two miles away if you walked, so it was nothing. The only thing concerning you at the moment would be the summer heat beating down on the two of you, wondering if it would be too hot for the small child, but you push on.

“Okay Sora, you have to be good.” You tell her, her big blue eyes staring into yours as you slip on her small glasses. Her hands go up to her face, trying to take them off, but you stop her. That’s when she begins to whine.

“Sora,” you sigh, pressing the hat further down your head. You want to chuckle at her pouty face, her white hair curling over the rim of her small sun hat. You step out of the house into the sun, the large trash bag in your hand. “We’re going to see Papa, but you need to be a good girl.” You tell her, your free hand patting her back, her front pressed onto you from the carrier she’s strapped to that brings you two together.

Immediately, her small whines stop. She looks up at you, her mouth slightly open. “Yes, your papa is at work, and we will visit him.” You tell her in a higher pitch, and she begins to babble out of happiness once more.

It’s been about thirty minutes, Sora taking a nap and you still holding the trash bag. You gain many stares, but you don’t seem to care.

Behind you, someone creeps up. You can feel an immense amount of cursed energy from him, causing you to tense up, and you’re sure Sora can feel it too as she begins to whine again.

“Excuse me?” The person begins, and you assume the person behind you is male from their tone. To turn around, eyebrows furrowed and free hand to your baby's head, pressing her further into you.

“You seemed to be struggling with the bag, so I—” he stammers, and you really look at him. No evil intentions, but that dangerous cursed energy coming from him alarms you.

He’s got pink hair, and a very child-like face. His hand is at the back of his head, scratching awkwardly. You take notice of his uniform, and all that tenseness dissipates. “Are you a Jujutsu Sorcerer?” You ask him, and his eyes go wide.

He shakes his head, hands thrown up. “No-! No, no! I’m— a student! From Sendai, I’m on my way to school!”

You deadpan, he’s clearly lying. Raising an eyebrow, you scoff, “Sendai? What are you doing here in Tokyo. And anyway,” you glance at his uniform, the head holding Sora’s head presses on one of the gold buttons, “I know a Jujutsu Sorcerer’s uniform when I see one. No need to lie, I’m one too.” You confess, finger to your lips(though they’re covered by the mask) like you just told him a secret.

“O-oh! I feel a little embarrassed now..” he tells you bashfully.

“Are you a first year?”

He blinks, nodding slow. “Yeah, I am.”

“Great! Where is Satoru Gojo?” You ask him, and again, he blinks. “I think… he went to get some dessert.”

You groan, readjusting your hat further down.

He leans down, taking the bag from you before stumbling from its weight.

‘She was carrying this!?’

He smiles, re-adjusting it in his hold, then thanking God for his strength.

“If it’s too heavy you can leave it on the ground.” You grumble, sitting under a tree on the stone ledge that surrounds it. The two of you sit under the shade, and Sora, now fully awake, is kicking her legs out. You pull her from the carrier, still facing you, you bounce her on your knee.

The two of you still adorned in your heavy disguises as another person comes by. A girl, wearing a Jujutsu Uniform, brown hair— though clearly dyed— cut into a cute bob. You chuckle, it reminds you of Shoko.

“What’s taking you so long— OHMYGOD!?” She shouts, staring at you. You probably scared her.. you think, but when she steps to you, kneeling to you and asking if you were a celebrity, sweat drops.

“Hm?”

“I'm asking if you’re a celebrity. A model? Maybe an actress.”

You find yourself laughing, shaking your head at her antics. “No, I’m afraid not.”

“A singer! See you have a very nice voice.”

Your head tilts, confused with a hint of embarrassment— though you end up laughing it off— it seems they don’t know who you are.

Sora, still in your arms, is again pressing her hands to her face, knocking her glasses off.

The girl, which you still haven't learned her name, bends down, picking up her glasses and when she leans back up, she sees Sora, looking down at her. Her big blue eyes staring back into the sorceress’ brown ones.

“Holy shit.” She murmurs, wordlessly giving you back her glasses. You stare puzzled, watching as she stands up and walks back to the other boy.

“That— that woman is Gojo’s MOM! She must've been hit by a curse that takes her to the future, because the baby she’s holding is a literal baby Gojo!” Nobara informs Yuuji in whisper, who shakes his head at her.

“No way,” he glances back at you and Sora, who is now tearing off her head revealing her snow white hair. She blinks at him, showcasing her beautiful eyes— identical to his teacher's— and he gapes.

“See! I told you!” She whispers back.

What they don’t realize is that their teacher is looming over them. “What’re you two whispering about?” He asks with a teasing grin, his hands in his pockets, around his arm is a paper bag of Kikufuku.

“Your mom!” Yuuji and Nobara tell him, pointing to the disguised woman. They still haven’t seen her face, but the baby was enough evidence for them.

Megumi stares at them like their idiots, even worse when he watches what his teacher and caretaker does next.

He glances at the woman, then smiling. “Mommy!” He shouts, walking up to her with a wave.

You look up and frown. His students stare at the supposed reunion with him and his mother, his hands to your face pulling off your glasses, then your hat, then ripping your mask off. The three are unable to see your face, though Megumi already knows what you look like.

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your lips, then one to the top of the Sora’s head. Still, his students can’t see your face, but their faces are disgusted. “What the hell do you do with your mom?” They asked, Megumi glancing at them like they were stupid.

Satoru laughs, “That’s the beautiful Mommy of my child,” he tells them, watching them go from relaxed to pure shock.

“WHAT YOU DIDN’T TELL US?! AND YOU HAVE A KID?!"

“NO ONE KNEW?!”

“Megumi knew!” Satoru chirps, and the boy’s friends turned to him. “You knew he was married and didn’t say anything.”

“That guy has nothing to do with me.” Megumi tells them, rolling his eyes at his friends interrogating him.

They’re extremely loud, loud wnough to the poiny where tou’re getting embarrassed.

“Excuse me?” You speak up, and they all turn to you. Your face on full display, and this causes them to gape further. “Could you guys be just a little bit more—”

“HOW DID YOU BAG THAT GOJO-SENSEI?!” Nobara asks, pointing at you them him.

He laughs, throwing his head back at the chaos.

Megumi shakes his head, and you stand up, Sora back in the carrier. You take Megumi and walk off with a sigh, still able to hear their screams in the distance along with Satoru’s laughter.

“What was in the bag?” Megumi asks in a disinterested tone.

You, looking ahead, think about it before shrugging.

“No clue.”

[dissipo]

nem todas as nossas vivências se dissipam da memória. você foi um sopro tão breve em minha existência fútil, mas que de certa forma, trouxe um leve arrepio, capaz de percorrer toda minha espinha. acho interessante a forma que breves passagens podem deixar mais resquícios do que aquelas cheias de pausas, idas, vindas e atritos. comigo aconteceu assim... de quem eu deveria lembrar, esqueci, mas mantive bem guardado quem eu deveria ter esquecido.

— dissipou-se

[sabrinarismos]

sou um velho armário cheio de lembranças antigas... a maioria é dolorosa demais para sair do fundo dele, por isso as deixo lá, empoeirando e mofando.

— dissipou-se

[ultravioletrayz]

Hiiiii since u take nsfw requests, can I get one of FEM!reader pegging Miguel? I just need to see his tight hole pounded by his sweet girl's strap for a change. Thank you!

SO yummy omg.

Pairing: sub!miguel o’hara x dom!f!reader

Warnings: 18+, praise kink, prone bone, use of strap-on, anal (m. receiving)

Summary: you give miguel a well-deserved break

A/N: was weighing up making this mean dom or soft dom reader but opted for soft dom because migs is just a stressed little baby 🥺 (he's a 6'9, mutant adult man who could kick me so hard I fly into the sun and disintegrate)

Word Count: 831 (not proofread, probably some errors towards the end)

After a long, demanding day of work, all Miguel wanted was some kind of relief, which he immediately found in your embrace. Your touch, your scent, your smile, it all made Miguel feel at ease. Your presence allowed him to sink further into the mattress as you sit on top of his ass, your hands kneading and massaging the taut musculature of his broad shoulders. He couldn’t help the breathy moans leaving his plump lips as his muscles unravelled from their tense knots… and your hips pressed against his ass after a particularly deep thrust.

You pull your sparkly black strap-on almost all the way out so that the silicone is just kissing his puckered hole, before bottoming out once again in a slow, sensual rhythm that has Miguel mewling. His body lays flat against the bed, handsome face tucked away on top of his folded arms to muffle his pretty sounds, his heavy cock messily grinding against the plush mattress in time with your thrusts, the sheets damp and stained with cum and sweat.

“Así, mami. Se siente tan bien, tan jodidamente bien.” Miguel whimpers, lifting his hips up to meet your deep strokes with a choked whine. The sound of the lube squelching inside of his ass and both of your exasperated huffs make Miguel feel lightheaded, his renowned intellect becoming unintelligible babbling as the big dildo strapped to your stunning body stretches him out and drags against his tight walls. This moment with you, not worrying about his responsibilities or being in control, feels like heaven. Miguel has been craving a release, a way to force himself to escape the pressures of being a leader, and a protector. What better way than getting fucked by his pretty girl? (“Just like that, mommy. Feels so good, so fucking good.”)

With his fangs exposed, his claws tearing through the sheets, and throaty groans escaping from his lips, Miguel melts onto your cock. Miguel feels his stress dissipating with each thrust, your fat strap's bulbous head nuzzling his most sensitive, deepest parts and massaging his prostate. To keep Miguel somewhat grounded, you place a hand on his toned, slender waist. You also remind yourself to keep your gentle rhythm and concentrate on Miguel's pleasure, even though part of you wants to see the man who regularly spears you on his cock receive the same, deliciously rough treatment. But Miguel needs this moment of love and devotion, and you’ll do anything to remind your handsome man of your devotion to him and how proud you are of him.

“This tight hole was made for me, taking me so well,” You whisper, leaning over his wide, muscular back so that your honeyed praises still reach his fucked-out brain. “Mi niño bonito. You love my cock so much, huh, Mig?”

Miguel struggles to lift his head from his forearms, but he does so to look back at you, his handsome face covered in drool and tears as your sweet words and deep thrusts cause his eyes to roll back and he nods dumbly in response. You watch with awe and parted lips as Miguel’s hole pulses around you, causing the remnants of lube inside of him to bubble and ooze down his cheeks. It makes you giggle to see him approaching his climax once again, your hips rolling against him passionately as your hands wander across the glistening tan skin of his back, gliding your fingertips across his muscles and scars to worship his body as you make love to him.

His jaw goes slack as he moans and whines as you angle your sparkly strap-on to caress his sweet spot, the benevolence of your thrusts making him conflicted between crying and cumming. Against his own will, he chooses the latter.

Miguel desperately humps the ruffled sheets beneath him as he bucks his hips back and forth to encourage the depth of your movements, but the second your hands squeeze his waist to remind him to calm down and let you take care of him, he’s shooting thick, sticky ropes of his delicious cum into the puddle of his past loads accumulating beneath his abs, the sudden warmth against his bare skin making him whimper as his thick thighs shake and his back arches, subsequently making his ass press against the base of your strap-on.

“Sh-Shock’s sake…” Miguel pants, letting his head fall back down against his sturdy arms as you pull out of him, tapping his spasming hole with the tip of your silicone cock to beckon a few more moans from Miguel. “Gracias, mi reina. N-Needed that. Needed you to make me feel good.”

“Of course, baby. Anytime. I’m here for you.” You whisper, climbing off of Miguel and laying on your side next to him, the bedsheets squelching underneath you as Miguel’s cum spreads and darkens the material. The mess of juices was gonna be a bitch to clean up. But then again, so was the mess that is Miguel O’Hara.

I'm feeling evil and wanna post some miguel angst soon.

[lazoneestlibre]

1425" Au-delà du désir" Guy ROGER ZONE LIBRE

La présence de satisfaction suscite du bien-être, mais la paix, c'est ce qui se joue au-delà du désir d'être assouvie.

[ecosdoinfinito]

Eu quero um tipo de amor que resista até o último sopro de poeira, até que a última partícula se dissipe dos nossos corpos, e que nossas almas se reencontrem no silêncio da pós-vida.

— Ecos do infinito

[peachy-skies-writings]

Bachelors - Farmer Coming Home Late from the Mines Headcanon

A/N: This was requested on my AO3 :) Hope you like!

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💚🏈 Alex 🏈💚

Alex would be quite concerned as the hours ticked by and you hadn’t returned home. He’d text you and if there was no response, he’d wait up.

If you came home injured, he’d grab his first aid kit out and patch you up. He’s pretty confident with first aid and patching you up thanks to Granny Evelyn helping him after his sports games. If it was super serious he’d call Harvey.

He wouldn’t be mad per se, but he’d be a little annoyed that you were out so late. If you were injured though, that would completely dissipate and he’d be hyper focused on tending to your wounds.

🧡📖 Elliott 📖🧡

Elliott would try to keep his mind off the late hour and your absence by writing or reading. His writing would be focused on worry or loneliness (secret emo).

If you were injured when you tumbled through the door, he’d instantly stop what he’d be doing and drag you to the clinic. If you resisted and said you were fine, he’d probably just attempt to carry you there until you gave up and went with him. 

Elliot wouldn’t be mad, he’d just be anxious that you weren’t home.

🤍🩺 Harvey 🩺🤍

Harvey would be very concerned that you’re not back. He’d pace back and forth in the farmhouse and basically wear a hole in the hardwood.

If you were injured, he’d instantly grab his medical supplies (he keeps them in the house ofc) and will stitch you up. If the injuries were more severe, he’d take you to the clinic (in a wheelbarrow if he had to).

Harvey would be mad if you were late home. He probably had dinner plans. He’d be less mad if you were injured, but he’d definitely scold you and remind you to take food and medical supplies if you go to the mine.

💙🎸Sam 🎸💙

Sam would be asleep on the couch when you come in. He’d tried to stay up but he’d had a pretty long day after he offered to do the farmwork for you while you’d ventured into the mine. He’d wake up when he hears you unlock the door and stumble in.

If you came home injured, he’d panic and run to get Harvey. For sure, he’d be like “I’m not enough of an adult for this. I need an adultier adult.”

Sam wouldn’t be mad at all, he’d be more upset with himself that he fell asleep before you got in. if you were injured he’d be super concerned but not mad at all.

💜🎮Sebastian 🎮💜

Sebastian is basically a night owl so he’d be awake and probably planning the next session of Solarion Chronicles. He’d be concerned when it got to about midnight, knowing that you were usually home. He’d keep planning but glance at the door and clock every now and again, growing increasingly concerned.

If you came back injured, Sebastian would grab the first aid kit from the bathroom. If the wounds were severed, he’d call Harvey or Robin to come help.

He wouldn’t be mad at all with you at all, he’d be relieved that you were home.

🖤🐓Shane 🐓🖤

Shane would stay up and wait for you to come in, more out of concern and wanting to check that you’re okay. He had a feeling that your lateness was due to something terrible.

If you were injured (his suspicions were correct), he’d patch you up as best he could if it was minor. He’d call Harvey if it was anything serious.

Shane wouldn’t be mad that you were late, he’d be super anxious and worried about you more than anything else.